


Our bedroom after the war

by smaragdbird



Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Memories, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:39:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/pseuds/smaragdbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>December has been a difficult time ever since Clint's family was murdered</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our bedroom after the war

Clint hit him stronger than Steve had expected. While Clint was usually a hard fighter( he hated to lose) this was unlike him, too uncoordinated, too feral. As if someone had taken his usual patience away.

“Afraid of me?” Clint challenged him, shifting from one foot to the other. “Come on, Cap.”

Steve laughed in a ‘yeah, sure’ way and threw the first punch. Clint ducked and caught him with the elbow in the stomach, swirling around to end up behind Steve.

“I thought you can do better than that,” Clint teased him. He was fast, Steve had to give him that.

“What’s up with you? You’re never the enthusiastic about hand to hand.”

“Maybe I feel like it.” Clint loosened his neck muscles. He hit hard and fast. Steve blocked the first two punches and kicked Clint to the ground but Clint was back on his feet immediately.

“That’s all you have?” Clint asked, tackling him. They rolled over the gym floor; Steve had to struggle to keep Clint from pinning him to the floor. He managed but it was a near thing. They separated but before Steve could catch his breath Clint was on him again, throwing punch after punch. Steve could barely block them. He tried to push Clint away but it only worked for a second each time, Clint came back even more ferociously than before.

Steve managed to pin him to the mattress, trying to hold onto Clint’s arms but Clint headbutted him, leaving him orientationless for a couple seconds. Clint was already behind him, his knee pressing into the small of Steve’s back, his hands on his neck, ready to break it.

Steve elbowed him in the face, then took Clint’s arm and twisted it around, behind his back. Clint gasped but still kicked at him, taking his left foot out under him. Steve couldn’t hold onto him without breaking his arm so he let go, jumping backwards to get out of Clint’s vicinity who was leashing out again already.

“Captain Rogers, I’ll take it from here.” Coulson’s voice cut through the room without any effort. Clint waited, muscles still coiled with tension and his eyes flashing with murderous fury. There was blood running down his temple.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked quietly when Coulson stood next to him. It was unusual to see him in training clothes. “He’s really pissed off.”

“I can handle Agent Barton,” Coulson told him firmly. “Go the infirmary and get patched up.”

“Of course, sir.” Steve threw one last look at Clint but eventually left the gym.

“Come to talk me out of it?” Clint asked with derision.

“Do I look like I want to talk?” Coulson asked, loosening his shoulders.

“Didn’t want me to damage your precious golden boy, did you?” Clint had begun to move, pace from side to side like a caged animal.

“Not at all,” Coulson replied calmly. Clint threw the first punch but Coulson had expected that and blocked it with one arm, grabbing Clint’s wrist with his free hand and twisting his arm onto his back while kicking him in the back of his knees to bring him down.

Clint’s elbow hit him in the stomach and he pushed himself backwards to tumble them both to the ground. Coulson let go of his wrist before he broke his arm but he was over Clint in a split second again, pinning him to the ground.

Clint was breathing hard, the fight with Steve had taken its toll on him and even anger could only account for so much. He still tried to fight Coulson but Coulson caught his head with both hands and for a moment they did nothing but stare at each other, then Clint crumbled beneath him, curling in on himself and starting to cry. Coulson crouched protectively over Clint as well as he could, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding him close.

December was always the most difficult time. So were their birthdays but December was four weeks of dealing with Clint’s mood swings from deep depression to violent outbreaks. Out of the Avengers only Coulson and Natasha knew about Clint’s family and probably Stark because Coulson wasn’t foolish enough to assume that Stark hadn’t hacked into Shield’s computers and read all their files.

However, Stark had enough of his own issues to deal with to be any help to Clint and Natasha....Natasha couldn’t help either because for weeks back then there had been horrible evidence that Natasha had been the one to murder Clint’s family. And even though it had eventually been proven utter bullshit the suspicion alone had permanently eroded some of the trust between her and Clint. Fury was out of the question too, after all Clint’s youngest daughter had been named after him and he had been her godfather.

That had left Coulson, both back then and now. While he had been friends with Clint back then and known his family (he had actually been closer to Laura, who hadn’t been that different from Miss Potts with a penchant for zombie movies and cooking that Coulson shared) he had been the least emotionally compromised and back then there had been no way that he would have left the investigation in someone else’s hands.

Walking into the house, blood splattered everywhere from where their throats had been slashed, Clint missing (and half insane with grief and torture when they had finally found him), Natasha under arrest and Nick temporarily resigned for personal reasons.

The months to follow hadn’t been much better. After tearing up the earth to find Clint and his kidnappers and proving Natasha’s innocence Nick had returned to his office but Natasha had asked for temporary reassignment to another post and Clint had been institutionalised.

He had been there, other than Natasha and Nick (not that he blamed them, if he had been in their position...), had learned to handle Clint’s mood swings, the violent outbreaks, the bouts of depression, to keep him out of the field when he was feeling vulnerable.

Clint had kissed him two, nearly three years after he had returned to the field.

And as much as Coulson believed that Clint’s feelings were genuine he was convinced that nothing would have ever happened between them if Coulson hadn’t been there for Clint to lean on all the way through.

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered in his arms. “I’m being a crappy boyfriend.”

“You’re not. And you have nothing to be sorry for,” Coulson hoped that Clint would actually get that into his head one day.

“Yeah, so says Dr. Rose. We’re working on that,” the smile was only a fraction of Clint’s usual ironic smiles but it was a start.

“I guess I should tell the others.” Clint said after a while. They were sitting on the gym floor, close but not as entwined as they had been.

“If that’s what you want.” Coulson replied non-committedly.

“We’ve been fighting for more than a year as a team now. They deserve to know.” Clint took one of Coulson’s hands between his. “Can you take Natasha out when I do?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” They sat like that for some time until Clint said,” I asked Nick for leave for Christmas.”

“You did?” Coulson asked surprised. For the past seven years Clint had spent the holidays in the field.

“Well, there’s the Avenger’s Christmas dinner which is probably just another of Tony’s attempts to get Steve laid,” Coulson snorted, “but I thought we could spend the holidays together.”

“I’d like that.”


End file.
